Illness and the Buddha’s begging bowel

In Old Path White Clouds, Thich Nhat Hanh’s classic retelling of the Buddha’s life, the Buddha explained why he and his disciples begged for their daily meal: begging was a spiritual discipline that enabled the monks to develop patience and humility and because it freed them from having to prepare their own meals they had more time for spiritual practice. Moreover the monks learned not to be overly attached to food and to accept whatever was offered with gratitude – even a small yam or bit of rice was better than an empty bowl.

Because the monks were in daily contact with the lay community they established meaningful relationships with the townsfolk and could share the Buddha’s teachings with anyone who expressed interested. The concept of karma is deeply rooted in India and the villagers, whether Hindu or Buddhist, understood that they accumulated merit and good karma by offering food to the monks. By relying upon the generosity of villagers for their food the monks were reminded everyday of the truth of interdependence – that we are all interconnected and dependent upon each other.

We generally think of dependency as a bad thing. The truth however is that we are dependent upon each other all of the time. The problem is that we don’t usually see let alone acknowledge our interdependence. That’s partly because our culture over-values independence. We have an entire national mythology, a sort of cultural fantasy, of rugged individualism that might be great for our egos but that’s devastating for our development of kindness and community.  Of course we are all unique individuals each with our own talents and gifts. But at the same time we depend upon each other for our very existence.

Illness reminds me daily of my dependency and the truth of interdependence. I have to ask for help cooking my meals, doing laundry, getting to medical appointments, picking up prescriptions, shopping for food. Even the most basic things are often beyond what I can manage. Everyday I rely upon family, friends and even strangers for assistance. Most people are happy to help – it feels good to help another person.

Whenever I do ask for help, perhaps for something as simple as reaching for an object off a grocery shelf, there is a small but profound moment of contact with another human being. In that way illness provides me with opportunities to develop meaningful connections with other people and my community. In turn, my dependency creates opportunities for other people to practice generosity, kindness, compassion and even patience. And that’s a good thing. How else can we develop these qualities?

When we can’t take care of our own needs we can either become bitter and resentful or we can learn to accept our situation. I have to be patient with my situation and with those who are trying to help me. I have to be willing to ask for and accept help even though it's not always easy to do. Illness is my chance to practice and develop qualities of patience, kindness, gratitude, and humility. It's extremely humbling to be dependent which may be one reason, culturally speaking, that we prefer to forget our interdependence.

Humility is not valued in our culture and yet it's extremely important. We tend to think of humility as a kind of weakness but actually it’s a great strength. When we've tamed our ego to the extent that we care as much for and about other people as we do ourselves that is freedom. It's freedom because we've freed our minds, if even just a little bit, from poisonous emotions like jealousy and resentment, pride, arrogance, anger, spite and all the negative states of mind that cause us so much suffering – sometimes far worse than any physical illness. Gentleness, humility, kindness and compassion are true strengths that reflect genuine and unshakable fearlessness. I aspire to such fearlessness.

When I was still healthy I was stubbornly independent and wouldn’t ask for help even when I needed it. That’s not a good way to be in the world because it closes off opportunities to deepen our connectedness to each other and community. Living with chronic illness is not easy but it can be a rich spiritual journey. I can either waste the time I have left feeling sorry for myself or grab this chance to tame my own mind and develop all of the openhearted qualities that are so important. As I see it, illness is an utterly profound reminder of what is truly important and of the truth and blessing of interdependence. I’m reminded of these things everyday as if I too were walking from home to home with a begging bowl.

The life we have

It’s tempting to think of illness as an interruption of our “real life,” as if we’ll get back to living once our health has returned. With a long-term or chronic illness, however, we may not know when or even if our health will return. Even if it does, we may never again experience the same level of physical strength and stamina that we once enjoyed. In that situation it can feel as if life is on hold, as if we cannot fully live or be happy without our previous level of health. However, as a friend once told me, “while you’re grieving for the life you used to have life is still going on. So live that life.”

In order to live well with illness we must figure out how to whole-heartedly embrace our experience rather than resent it. Resentment only compounds our suffering. And why resent our life just because we have an illness?  After years of being sick I’ve come to realize that illness is like the weather, we may not like that we’re sick, or that it’s raining, but neither illness nor rain are personal insults. Sure, being sick feels personal because it’s happening to our bodies but we make it worse when we take it personally, as in: “Why is this happening to me?”

Illness is simply a part of life; it’s an experience of life. How we choose to live with it, however, is up to us. Life doesn’t stop just because we’re sick. Our life may take a slightly or significantly different form as a consequence of illness but it continues. Even if we have a disease from which we won’t recover, life continues until the very moment of our death. How we live those moments makes all the difference in both the quality of our life and, eventually, the quality of our death.

Living well with illness is as easy, and as difficult, as simply accepting it. That may seem outrageous. Why, we might ask, should someone with cancer accept it? Because fighting or resenting it does no good. In fact there’s plenty of evidence to suggest that people who accept their illness – which is not the same thing as giving up or discontinuing treatment – actually do better physically and emotionally. Why? Because in the simplest terms they’re able to relax, which frees up energy that the body needs. People who can accept their situation tend to be happier and find more joy in living.

Instead of seeing illness as an interruption, an annoyance, a burden or maybe even a curse, we might think of it instead as an invitation to appreciate the fact that we’re still alive. Being sick presents us with an opportunity to look more deeply at our experience, at how we’re living and how we relate with other people and our world. I think of illness as an adventure and a process of discovery. For me illness is, among other things, a chance to practice being content and happy with what I have, rather than see my situation as one of loss. It’s a chance to explore the full range of my experience: pain, fear, anger, depression, grief, even gratitude and contentment. Whatever arises is basically okay. By bringing a gentle awareness and mindfulness to our situation whatever arises is manageable. When we can greet each moment, whatever that moment brings, however it manifests, with openness and a sense of genuine curiosity we can discover what it means to live the life we have.

Ordinary Blessings

“What do you want to do,” my sister asked when I was released from the hospital. It was a bright blue fall morning the glorious kind of day when the leaves are at their brilliant peak, the sun is shining and the chill on the air makes you feel alive. “First I want to take a bath and then I want to go to a park.”

My entire family was gathered in Bellingham, Washington that week keeping vigil at St. Joseph where I’d been admitted in acute congestive heart failure. Luckily my symptoms had quickly stabilized during a short stay in the ICU, surprising everyone in the hospital. With the advice to “get on a transplant list as soon as possible” I’d been released after only four days. Nothing can quite describe the experience of walking out of a hospital into the light of an ordinary day when one has been close to death. In a sense it’s so simple and ordinary: walking down a hallway into a lobby, through double sliding glass doors and out into the world.

In truth, there’s nothing ordinary at all about any day. There’s nothing ordinary about living in a world that’s full of miracles. On some level we know that each day is a miracle. Unfortunately, it’s easy to forget how precious life is. For the most part we’re simply too busy, too distracted to appreciate the miracle of our own life. So we take it for granted. And contrary to what we might think, illness and misfortune don’t diminish that miracle while fame and money don’t enhance it. Perhaps the only thing that might truly undermine the miracle of our precious human birth is not appreciating it, not being mindful of it, not utilizing it to its fullest capacity according to our ability and the opportunities that come our way – even something as simple as the opportunity to be kind.

Boulevard Park

Boulevard Park sits along the edge of Bellingham Bay with views to the San Juan Islands in the distance. It’s a beautiful and popular destination. On a nice weekend the park is packed with people – ordinary people – and on this sunny fall day people were everywhere. Park benches line the water’s edge and we headed across the grass to claim one of them, dodging a Frisbee game along the way. I was walking slowly, weakened by an enlarged heart and limping with leg muscles stiffened from too many days in bed.

A week earlier I’d finished a solo backpack trip of the northern section of the Pacific Crest Trail. Starting at the Canadian boarder and ending at Rainy Pass on the North Cascade Highway, I’d walked the 70 miles in under a week. I’d planned the trip as an escape from civilization, preferring the solitude of wilderness to the company of people. But on this day that was for me anything but ordinary, as my brother helped me to the bench, and as I took in the sights and sounds of the many people sharing the park, I realized with the suddenness and surety of an epiphany that we bless each other by our very presence.

It isn’t necessary that we know each other, or that we smile at each other, or nod, or recognize one another in any way – although those things are certainly nice. It is simply that our presence, our life, the very miracle of our existence is in itself a blessing. We are, each one of us, a blessing. Every ordinary person is an extraordinary miracle and it is a blessing to be in the presence of another human being.